


Claire, Um...Happy Birthday

by electriclita



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s10e20 Angel Heart, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electriclita/pseuds/electriclita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s pretty sure he’d never even agree to help Sam buy gifts for anyone else—not that Sam would ever need help, the sentimental fuck—but Cas, Dean can’t deny Cas a single thing. The word ‘no’ ceases to exist when it comes to Cas, which means they’re here at the mall searching for a gift for Claire’s 18th birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claire, Um...Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CasuallyBadass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasuallyBadass/gifts).



> This is a total departure from my usual fare but it demanded to be written, so here is a complete 180 from me to you, M!

_Jesus Christ_ , Dean thinks as he strides through the mall, Cas and his billowing trench coat at his side. If it had been anyone other than Cas he’d have said ‘hell no’ and gone on with his day. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’d never even agree to help Sam buy gifts for anyone else—not that Sam would ever need help, the sentimental fuck—but Cas, Dean can’t deny Cas a single thing. The word ‘no’ ceases to exist when it comes to Cas, which means they’re here at the mall searching for a gift for Claire’s 18th birthday, a bizarre celebration in her haphazard life. They've walked almost the entire mall without finding a single store Dean feels comfortable stepping into when he spies the Hot Topic.

"C'mon," he tells Cas, veering sharply left. There's even a girl wearing a similar hairstyle to Claire's hanging shirts just inside the door as she greets them. Perfect. 

Of course, once they're inside Dean has no idea where to look. New shirts? A dress? He immediately writes those off. Jewelry? Too personal. Claire barely has any stuff of her own much less a record player, so the vinyl records are out. Dean’s in the middle of wondering if a new duffel would be good when Cas leans in way close and says, "Dean. There are an alarming number of satanic symbols on these items. Are you sure teenagers shop here and it's not," his voice gets impossibly lower and more urgent, "A satanic cult store?"

It's all Dean can do not to laugh as he turns around to face Cas. "Cas, look around," he throws an arm out to encompass the band shirts, the Disney merch, the brightly-colored figurines with the overlarge heads. "Everybody else in here right now is a friggin’ kid. Besides, do you sense any weird stuff happening?"

"No," Cas admits. 

"Good. then let's figure out something for Claire and get the hell out of here. You see anything yet?"

Right on cue the girl from when they first entered pops up in front of them, asking in an overly chipper voice, "Can I help you guys find something?" Dean takes in her braided hair, pierced eyebrow, nose, lip, and who knows what else, and almost says no but Cas beats him to the punch with a yes. She looks a little surprised but continues, "Who you shopping for today?"

"My—my daughter," Cas says roughly, catching Dean’s eye. He shrugs. It’s close enough to the truth for outsiders.

"She give you a list?" Cas shakes his head no and she says "Okay, no big. What kind of stuff is she into?"

Dean steps on Cas' foot before he can say something like 'revenge' and interrupts, "We actually don't know her all that well, her mom raised her."

"Oh, I get it," the salesgirl says, a look of realization coming over her face. "Mom usually did the shopping?"

Cas shrugs helplessly, hands wide and face imploring. The girl nods as if steeling herself and says "Okay, so. give me anything you've got. I can make this work." She's unusually peppy for someone working in such a dark place, looking the way she does. Guess you really can't judge a book by it's cover.

"Um," Cas starts, "she travels a lot." The sentence is raised slightly at the end, almost like a question and he glances at Dean, who nods encouragingly. Cas can be manipulative when he wants—or needs—to. Cas continues, gaining confidence, "She's pretty practical. Smart. Driven.” The girl nods as Cas talks, a thoughtful look in her eyes, then spins on her heel and heads toward the back of the store, tossing a “come on this way” over her shoulder. Dean almost runs into her when she turns and stops short in front of a rack of clothes. “So,” she says, “Everybody has all the clothes basics figured out—shirts, underwear, pants, jackets, whatever—but practically nobody ever remembers the little stuff! Scarves, gloves, hats,” she gestures at different parts of the rack, looking pleased. Dean squats in front of the display and turns to look at Cas, rising up again when he sees Cas isn’t there.

“Cas?” he calls, low but urgent. For a split second he wonders if this _is_ a front for Satan-worshipping cult, hand already moving to the gun at the small of his back, but Cas pops out from behind a display with a look of wonderment on his face. Dean relaxes and rounds the corner, seeing that Cas is staring at an endcap full of plush toys.

“I think she would like one of these, Dean,” Cas says solemnly. Dean cuts him a look of disbelief, but Cas seems determined. The salesgirl looks totally confused, but Dean shrugs and says they’ve got it as Cas runs his hands over the plush hides of the toys. “Claire has so few comforts in her life,” he muses, almost more to himself than to Dean, but it punches him in the gut anyway. Moments like this remind him that Cas seems more human than Dean himself sometimes, finding the good in things, no matter how tiny. He sighs and actually looks at the shelves, lighting upon a cat with blue eyes and a grumpy expression. 

“Look, Cas,” he laughs. “It’s you as a cat.”

He doesn’t expect Cas’ expression to soften the way it does as he reaches for the stuffed animal almost reverently. “It’s perfect,” Cas intones. “I want this for Claire.”

Dean looks at him like he's grown two heads but Cas doesn't even notice. He's petting the stuffed cat, cradling it gently in his hands. Dean heaves a sigh and pulls out his wallet. "Okay, okay." He leads Cas to the checkout and the same girl pops up again to help them. When Cas hands her the cat her face softens. 

"This is really cute," she comments. Dean doesn't respond, eyeing the garbage at the counter. A flash of black and white in a pile of pins catches his eye and he digs it out. A fucking anti-possession symbol. He nudges Cas, holding up the pin. The girl follows his line of vision and says, "Did you ever read the Supernatural books? They got pretty popular there for a minute.” 

Dean almost chokes, but he manages to maintain his composure enough to reply, "Nah, but my brother did. He practically lives and breathes it." He flashes his most shit-eating grin as drops the pin and hands over some cash. The girl grins back and slaps the change into his palm, handing Cas the bag with the cat. He thanks her and waves over his shoulder as they leave. 

On the way back to the parking lot Cas insists on stopping into Hallmark to get a nicer gift bag because "Humans appreciate presentation, Dean." Dean’s about to make a crack when he sees how serious Cas is, debating over the eighteen kinds of gift wrap, and lays a reassuring hand on Cas' arm instead.

"You know she'll appreciate that you did anything at all, right?" Dean leans in close. "I mean, girls go crazy for that shit."

Cas cuts him a mildly reproachful look and takes a bag from the hook. "I don’t think Claire is just any girl, Dean." He turns and walks to the counter, leaving Dean staring after him. 

On the drive back to the motel Cas fusses with the bag and paper enough that Dean can hear it over Zeppelin I in the tape deck. Granted, the music’s not all that loud—nowhere near it is like when he's messing with Sam or when he used to just cruise on his own—but still, this is Cas, who doesn't make any movement without a purpose, let alone nervous fidgeting. 

A couple blocks from the motel Dean pulls over, coasting to a stop at the side of the road. He cuts a sideways look at Cas, pointedly looking at the bag in his hands. "You know it's gonna be fine, right?" He slides an arm along the back of the seat, clamps his hand around the back of Cas' neck, ignores Cas's protests and barrels on. "Look, I know a lot of stuff’s been fucked up lately. A lot. But we're all doing the best we can—me, Sam, _and_ you," he nods at the bag. "We just gotta keep pushing forward."

Cas nods and Dean pulls onto the road again, but he doesn't remove his hand, thumb idly rubbing behind Cas’ ear. When they get out of the car and head to the motel room Dean stops and suddenly spins Cas around, planting a firm kiss on his lips. "For good luck," he says, spinning Cas back around and clapping him on the shoulder as he knocks on the door.


End file.
